She
by cinderella200
Summary: Sometimes, standing on the sidelines can be more painful than playing the sport. Pansy observes. DMHG


**A/N- This bloody story has been the bane of my life. I have re- started it more times then I care to count, and I kept changing the order of events. I'm not normally this indecisive about my fics, but for some reason I found Pansy incredibly hard to write. Let me know what you think yeah?**

**She.**

_**You can observe a lot just by watching.- Yogi Berra.**_

When Dumbledore announces that the Head Boy and Head Girl may each pick an assistant from amongst the Senior Prefects, you're delighted. Of course, the Mudblood chooses the blood traitor Weasel, but that's not important.

What's important is that Draco chooses you.

You can hardly believe your luck. But you disguise it. You don't simper. You've grown out of that. Instead, you return his soft smirk, and incline your head to him slightly in acknowledgement.

It doesn't matter how ecstatic you are that you will be able to spend even more time alone with him.

_**What matters is dignity.**_

The Head's study is wonderful. It suits him perfectly, the grandeur fits him like a glove. He was born to sit in oak furnished drawing rooms with floating chandeliers and velvet covered couches, waited on hand and foot by scurrying house elves.

_She_ sits there, spoiling the room, like an ugly immovable ornament. Her wild hair is just visible over the top of the back of the armchair, and she never says a word to you when you visit.

She's a rude little bitch.

Draco tells you about her and the Weasel breaking up, and how awkward it will now be for them working together as Head Girl and assistant. You laugh together, and you can hardly bear how beautiful he looks when he laughs. When he falls against you for support, chuckling at the Mudblood's misfortune, the contact makes you forget to breathe, let alone laugh.

_**You don't wonder why he is so pleased they have broken up.**_

At the end of November, it is Goyle's birthday, and he smuggles a crate of fire whisky into the common room.

The evening progresses as it should, Draco takes your hand and leads you out into the corridor.

You stop behind an old suit of armour, and he kisses you roughly, tasting of Firewhisky and rum.

His hand is in your hair, and his lean frame is against yours. You can feel the cold stone wall through the thin fabric of your shirt, and his other hand is forcing its way under the hem of your shirt.

His lips drag their way down your jaw and to the base of your throat, then back up again. He is muttering furiously as he kisses you, something he has never done before, and you desperately strain to hear what he is saying, but the feel of his hands makes it impossible to comprehend anything else.

He's been rough with you before, being Draco he doesn't often display any tenderness, but when he lifts you up, hoists your skirt past your thighs, and rips your tights, you have to bite down on his shoulder to stop yourself crying out because it isn't painful in the _right way._

He's rough, yes, but before its been a primal, animal type lust driving it.

This time, he seems genuinely angry.

When you return to the common room, no one says a word. It's the norm, and nobody thinks anything of it. A year ago, the fact that people assume you are "Draco's girl" would have made you smile until your face cracked.

_**You think he might have been muttering something about Mudbloods.**_

You notice _something_ at the next prefect meeting.

"Right," says Granger. "First up, is everybody happy with the patrol rota? We've tried to make sure that everyone's paired with someone from their own house every other week, and the other week you'll patrol with someone from a different house."

A mixture of groans, contemptuous snorts, raised eyebrows and nervous glances welcome this statement. You roll your eyes. If you have to walk about with a Gryffindor you'll kill yourself.

_She _rolls her eyes at the reaction and glances at Draco, who is lolling back in his chair on two legs, silvery hair falling over his eyes, all elegance and disdain. He returns her glance with a sneer, and mouths "told you." at her. She looks irritable, and raises her voice above everyone.

"Ok, onto something a bit more interesting. We need to discuss the organization of the Yule Ball."

Dumbledore, the old fool, is trying to encourage inter-house relations by holding another ball. You can tell it's utterly futile, but you like dances, so grudgingly begin to pay attention to the bothersome Mudblood.

"Basically, we need some of you to help with decorations, some to help with the refreshments, and of course, a few at the door to make sure none of the younger years try and sneak in."

"And someone to make sure the punch is spiked."

A few titters greet the drawl, but that's not unusual. What is unusual, is how Granger bites her lip, as though trying not to _laugh _and then catches his eye for a split second, without a shred of annoyance in her features.

_**It must have been a trick of the light, there's no way he would wink at her.**_

In the study a week later, you ask Draco whether he is looking forward to the dance.

He shrugs his shoulders.

"It's all the same isn't it? Always the same thing. Nothing to look forward to really."

You nod slowly, although you don't understand at all. You ask him if he's going down to dinner. He says he doesn't think he's going to bother.

"Malfoy, you really should eat something, you didn't have lunch either did you?"

The Mudblood is giving him a domineering look, and you wait for his snappish retort, telling her to leave him alone.

He goes down to dinner with you.

_**You tell yourself it's because he wanted to get away from the Mudblood.**_

In Potions, the Mudblood is unusually clumsy and drops a vial of something on the ground.

It smashes, spraying a blueish liquid across the stone floor, and Snape rounds on her, his face twisted into a condescending sneer.

But before he can do his damage, and before you can laugh, Draco waves his wand lazily at the mess and it vanishes.

Potter and Weasley look utterly lost for words, they merely watch dumbfounded as Draco wordlessly hands her another vial of the liquid from his bag, which she takes, looking slightly bemused.

Snape loses his sneer as quickly as it appeared, and replaces it with a cold, sallow stare.

"Five points from Gryffindor Miss Granger, for wasting valuable ingredients."

You doubt she even hears the Professor, she is too busy gawping at Draco, before mouthing "thank you" at him. He smirks and replies "clumsy bint."

_**There is no malice in his voice.**_

At dinner that night, Theo Nott dares to ask what no one else will.

"What's this I hear about you helping out the Mudblood in Potions then?"

You don't think you've ever heard such a loud silence.

Every Slytherin in your year, (and most of the others) fix their eyes on Draco, watching his reaction.

He lifts up his goblet, and takes a sip, languidly assessing everyone around the table before lowering it.

"She dropped some Essence of Urle and made a mess. I cleaned it up and gave her a new bottle. What's there to tell?"

Theo raises his eyebrows, and Draco matches his look, icy grey against cloudy blue, before saying in a loud, clear, carrying voice.

"I don't appreciate Snape wasting time in NEWT classes, even if it is to torture the do-gooders. That alright Nott?"

His voice answers the question clearer than Nott could ever manage. Of course it's alright, no one with half a brain cell argues with Draco when he looks like that.

_**Sometimes, you wish someone would.**_

Daphne Greengrass sits on her bed, idly curling a blonde lock round her wand.

"You know what you're wearing to the dance yet Pansy?"

You show her your dress robes, and she voices her approval, before frowning slightly.

"But I thought Draco's wearing dark blue? You wont match?"

You shrug, and turn back to hang up your robes, but not before you catch a glimpse of the sickeningly knowing look across Daphne's refined features.

_**You never liked Daphne.**_

A week later, when you patrol the corridor with Zabini, he asks you who you are going to the dance with. You shrug and say you're not even sure you can be arsed to go. Even with your back to him, you can feel his surprised look boring through you.

"Draco _will_ be disappointed."

You don't say a word, instead stopping to poke your head into a classroom to check for students, before closing the door. As you walk back to the dormitory, you finally look at Zabini, and despite your so- called Slytherin cunning, you fail to hide your worry.

"He hasn't asked you yet then?"

You snap something about making assumptions, and Zabini laughs lazily as he follows you into the common room, a noise that makes your blood boil.

You wonder why, after nearly seven years of attending dances together, he has forgotten to ask you to this one.

_**You don't sleep that night.**_

You go up to the Head's study to ask him a question about the patrol rota, because it seems you've been double booked at the same time as the Ravenclaw girl. You don't bother to knock, you never bother, you don't have to.

He's lying on the velvet couch, head propped up by a cushion at one end. She's sitting at the other end of the couch, with a book on her lap.

It takes you a second to realize that, underneath the book, he's resting his feet on her lap as well.

"When are you going to be done with that bloody book, Granger, I need to do my essay."

"I've got one chapter left, idiot, just shush."

"Such a slow reader."

"Such a narcissistic prat."

He laughs, and leans his head back into the cushion lazily, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

"Just hurry up, Granger."

You slip out of the study, praying you wont be noticed. You don't stop until you reach the second floor corridor, and then you lean against the wall, and breathe until the tears retreat back.

_**It doesn't mean anything.**_

Two nights before the ball, you and Zabini are in the library finishing off your Transfiguration essays when Theo Nott strolls in, sits at your table, and begins chatting to Zabini about various conquests.

You catch various parts of their conversation as you work, mainly that Daphne Greengrass is currently "looking too plastic", Millicent Bulstrode has a "fine pair of tits", Hannah Abbott is "far too attractive to be a Hufflepuff", and if Ginny Weasley wasn't a Gryffindor blood traitor she'd "get it several times."

You roll your eyes as you work, and Theo laughs humourlessly at your unimpressed expression.

"Mind you, the littlest Weasley's clearly got _nothing_ on Parkinson here."

Zabini snickers before leaning back in his chair and nodding. "Yeah, especially if last night's anything to go by."

You don't want to look up, you wish you were strong enough to ignore the bait, but you've never been able to hold you tongue. You tell them, in as unconcerned a voice as possible, that you don't have the faintest idea what they're talking about.

They both laugh even harder.

"Shut up Pansy, you know damn well what we mean." says Theo. "Poor Malfoy looked completely exhausted last night when he came in."

"And the scratches on his back." Adds Zabini, making a soft hissing noise through his teeth. "Looked bloody painful."

"Quite the wildcat aren't we?"

You look up at both of them now, searching their smug expressions for a sign they're taking the piss, but they clearly aren't. They mean every word, and worse still, they're taking it for granted that it was you that Draco was with last night.

You throw them a disdainful look before gathering your things, and exiting the library, leaving the two boys laughing at their own cleverness.

You've always been careful not to scratch Draco, and you feel a detached sort of curiosity about the girl who doesn't seem to care about marring his porcelain skin.

_**It cant…it simply cant be her.**_

You dance a couple of dances with Theo, his hands always uncomfortably low, his eyes dancing with a smugness that for the first time, you aren't in Draco's possession, and you hate it.

After a couple of drinks with the girls, you dance with Blaise, always the perfect gentleman as usual, and looking completely disinterested in the whole event as his spins you in his arms.

When you go back to your table, you sit next to Millicent heavily, wondering how many boys you will have to dance with, and how much punch you will have to drink before you stop thinking about pale skin and icy eyes, and she speaks up.

"How come you didn't come with Draco?"

You like Millicent. You honestly do. She's sharp, in the sense she knows a hell of a lot more than she lets on. She notices things, she's wonderfully perceptive, rather like Zabini, but unlike Zabini, she doesn't use what she knows to get her own way. She keeps quiet.

But when it comes to tackling people, she has an admirable bluntness, and she's easy to talk to, with her lack of airs.

You shrug, and tell her that he didn't ask you.

"How come? That's fucking weird, have you had a row or something?"

You shake your head.

"If you ask me he's gone a bit funny. I swear he spends more time in that Head's study then he does in the common room. What the hell's that Granger bint got that we haven't?"

_**In short, Millicent says what everyone else is thinking.**_

"Pansy? After party in the common room yeah? This is shit."

You vaguely hear Daphne's voice, and nod, telling her you'll be on your way.

You've had entirely too much to drink, god only knows what Goyle spiked the punch with.

You notice Draco is not with the group of Slytherins that have just left, and you can't see him in the hall.

He must be in the Head's study.

In a drunken stupor you make your way up there, he should _know_ about the after party, someone should _tell_ him, he's a _Slytherin_ for god's sake, he should _be_ there.

You reach the door and go in, but it's empty. You decide to go and sit in the Mudblood's armchair by the fire and wait for him. Only when you sit down do you realize how much taller than you she must be, for her hair to be visible over the top. The chair completely swallows you.

Minutes pass by, maybe hours, you're not sure, but eventually, you hear the door click open, and familiar voices drift in. Before you stand up, you hear something that makes you freeze in the seat.

"Draco, why are we here?"

"I'm dragging you out of that complete fiasco so I can have my wicked way with you, _idiot_."

"We have to go back, it's our responsibility to be there!"

"Fuck it, let's just stay here."

You think you can hear kissing, you think you can, you're not sure, you can't be sure.

"Draco-"

"Shush woman, they wont miss us now, everyone's far too hammered."

"Yes, and who's faults that?"

He laughs, that gorgeous laugh, that laugh you could never resist, and this time is no exception, you turn in your chair to look at him.

_**You'll always regret going into that study.**_


End file.
